The words I have, the stories that need telling
Weekends in the abyss picking of kitchy baubles to prove the trips are real fighting back tears under the storm clouds and crows
I lug around me most days since I found out the hopeless, the outcasts, and the downtrodden
Everyone relates to the songs
Poetry written from a gutter
They get loved for the relation to tune
When we get right to it
They can only relate in abstract senses begging to live that life
Just when faced with it
It’s a refusal to acknowledge or even see
These are true stories
From the invisible


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s